Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76757 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Wow.”
“I still have it, you know? The truck. It held too many memories to just get rid of it. It’s at my parents’ place, stored in their old barn. I thought one day I’d restore it to its former glory. It’s had a rough life.” I chuckle.
“You kept it?” Delaney asks.
“I had to. It was the last piece of anything I had that reminded me of you. I had my memories, but that old truck, it’s special. Same reason I’ve never moved into another place. Every time I walk through the doors at my place, a rush of memories of our time there together assaults me.”
“I didn’t peg you for the sentimental type.”
“Yeah, not usually. Only those moments and the people who are special to me.”
“And I’m one of those people?”
“You’re at the top of the list, Laney.”
She turns her head and gazes out at the meadow. “It’s beautiful here.”
“Yes. You loved it here. It was always one of your favorite places for me to bring you.”
“Do you mind sitting with her?” She motions with her head toward the back seat. “I just need a minute.”
“Of course. Take however long you need. Here.” I open the center console of my truck and hand her a scarf and a pair of my gloves that are way too big for her but will help ward off the cold weather. She takes them without comment, and once she’s bundled up, she’s stepping out of my truck and into the frigid air.
I watch her as she takes step after step until she’s about fifty feet away from the truck. I can’t see her face, but when she tilts her head back, I can imagine that her eyes are closed and she’s taking it all in. The fresh air, the memories I’ve just given her. Maybe, just maybe she’s remembering. That’s why I brought her here. I was hoping that seeing this place, where we spent all our time, that it would trigger something for her.
I’ve been reading online, and the brain is a tricky thing. There’s a chance she could still one day remember, but that chance is equally as great for her not remembering. I can’t imagine what it feels like for her. To have someone tell you what happened in your life, having years gone that you can’t recall.
I don’t take my eyes off her as she stands and stares out into the distance. I wish I knew what she was thinking. I also wish I could make it better, that I could take this confusion and this pain away from her. The odds have been stacked against us from the beginning.
Glancing at the clock on the dash, I see she’s been out there for twenty minutes. She has to be freezing. Unbuckling my seat belt, I turn to look at Kendrix, who is still sleeping peacefully. I climb out of the truck and quietly shut the door to keep from waking her. Slowly, I make my way to Delaney. The closer I get, the easier it is to see her shoulders shaking. I don’t know if she’s shivering from the cold or— When I hear a sob, I know it’s not the cold, but tears that are causing her body to quiver.
As soon as I reach her, I wrap my arms around her, and she buries her face in my chest. “I’ve got you.” I try to soothe her, holding her close and trying to warm her and let her know she’s not alone all at the same time.
“It’s all so messed up. This place, it’s familiar to me.”
“Hey,” I say soothingly. “That’s a good thing.”
“No, Kent, you don’t understand. This place. It’s the same one I dream about every night. You’re standing in this exact meadow, with your hand held out for me. Those trees—” She points to the tree line off in the distance. “—they’re behind you in my dreams.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. Instead, I hold her a little tighter, showing her I’m here. I’m here with her and I’m never leaving her. I don’t know what that means for our future, but I do know I won’t be away from them, from her or our daughter ever again.
“I hate her. I hate my mother. How could she do this, Kent? How could she tear us apart like that, and Kendrix?” Her voice cracks. “Our sweet baby girl. How could she keep her from her father?” She looks up at me. “She kept us from you.”
“I didn’t show up,” I say, even though she already knows. I’m trying to alleviate some of her anger from her mother to me.
“It doesn’t matter. Couples fight, they have disagreements. I never would have kept you from her. Never. I might have been upset, and I might not remember those few years of my life, but I promise you, that’s not who I am. I never would have kept our daughter from you. Never,” she says again. There’s conviction in her tone.